


the one with the broken laptop

by moonlitserenades



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 11:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2691677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitserenades/pseuds/moonlitserenades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He calls the support line as soon as he gets an opportunity, and, after reading off all his information, greets the man on the other line with, "I think my laptop is possessed."</p><p>A beat of silence, and then, with stifled amusement, "Sorry?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's closing in on 8 am when Connor finally gets up to get himself a snack. He's been working most of the night, and his eyes are fucking _throbbing_. Also, there's a bottle of whiskey in his kitchen that's been calling his name for the past, like, hour. But that's not the point.

He returns to his desk fifteen minutes later feeling decidedly more relaxed, which lasts approximately as long as it takes him to realize that there is something Very Wrong with his laptop. Furrowing his brow, he pokes uncertainly at various buttons on his keyboard, hoping that his screen has simply gone into hibernation mode. When it refuses to acknowledge his touch, he tries the power button, hoping against hope that he'd turned it off without thinking in his distracted haze. It complies with a weak wheeze, and then everything goes, very quickly, to shit. 

There's a moment where Connor goes weak with relief, because the screen flashes what looks like the start of his normal, white wakeup screen. Except then it turns red. And then green. And then blue. He slams the lid shut, yelping a series of swears, and pushes back from his desk. This is obviously a hallucination brought on by the fact that he hasn't slept in like three days. That's all. It's fine. More whiskey, and everything will be just fine. 

(Everything is so not fine.) 

His laptop continues to be totally nonfunctional for the next several hours, and he counts his lucky stars and thanks every deity known to mankind that he'd thought to back up the documents he'd needed to bring to Annalise so he could print them off on a school computer. There were a few hours in there where he hadn't saved his work, but he can't really think about that right now without maybe wanting to smash his head into a wall, so he doesn't.

He calls the support line as soon as he gets an opportunity, and, after reading off all his information, greets the man on the other line with, "I think my laptop is possessed."

A beat of silence, and then, with stifled amusement, "Sorry?"

“My laptop,” he says, with great patience, “seems to have decided that instead of letting me do work, what it should really do is flash a lot of colors at me and then turn itself off. Which, I gotta tell ya, isn’t really working for me.”

“Calibration mode,” he mutters, which, _what?_

“Sorry?” he parrots, a little mocking.

“I don’t think I can do anything for you over the phone,” the guy says apologetically. “Would you be able to bring it in? We have an opening in about an hour. Ask for Oliver, since I’m pretty certain I already know what’s wrong with it.”

His eyes dart to the clock. He’s not actually sure he’s got an hour, but he’s also positive he can’t keep on like this with no laptop, so, “Yeah. Alright. Thanks.” He hangs up before the guy can say goodbye.

***

Malls are the worst thing. Whoever decided tech support stores should be at malls is the _worst person._ Connor has decided. If he hears one more thirteen year old girl or idiotic frat guy bitching about iPhone glitches he is not going to be responsible for his actions, honest to God. “Name’s Connor Walsh,” he says to the poor guy stuck greeting everyone at the door. “I have a 5:30 with Oliver.” The red fleece this dude is wearing does wonders for his shoulders, he notices, and makes sure to let his gaze linger where the fabric has pulled tight for a moment before meeting his eyes again. His lips curve up in the slightest of playfully predatory smirks. “No chance that’s you, is there?”

“Uh, no. Sorry.” Blushing, he rubs the back of his neck. “He’s...in the back.”

“That’s a shame,” Connor murmurs, practically purrs. 

At that moment, though, the actual Oliver emerges--at least, if the fact that he’s wandering around saying Connor’s name inquisitively is any indication. He’s good-looking, in a nerdy way; thick-rimmed glasses should not work that well. Connor’s eyebrows inch up, and he winks at Mr. Red Fleece for good measure before swaggering toward Oliver. “Heard you’re looking for Connor Walsh?”

Oliver turns toward him, and his eyes widen behind the lenses of his glasses for the briefest moment. Connor, amused, charitably pretends not to notice. “Um. Yes. Hi, Connor. Uh, why don’t you...have a seat at the bar?”

“Not the kind of bar I had in mind for tonight, but maybe you can help me fix that later, too,” he says smoothly as he takes a seat.

Oliver chokes a bewildered laugh. “What?”

“It was a pickup line,” he says comfortably as he slips his laptop out of its carrying case and prods the power button. “Not one of my better ones, but I’m under a little stress at the moment.”

“I, uh...I work until close,” says Oliver helplessly, blinking rapidly at him. He’s distracted a moment later by the colors flashing across Connor’s laptop screen, which are, since the laptop is still facing its owner, bathing his face in their strange rainbow. (Oliver hates himself immediately for the ridiculously poetic nature of the thought. The guy is a customer, for God’s sake, if a stupidly charming one.) “Do you mind turning that to face me?”

“Not at all.” 

Oliver watches it move through its cycle a few more times; tries a few keystrokes he’s almost sure aren’t going to work; looks up at Connor worriedly. “Please tell me you’ve got all your information backed up.”

“Most of it.” For the first time, a flash of discomfort mars his face. “Why?”

“It’s probably just your display, but I can’t access your computer at all to check the hard drive, which means that might need to be replaced as well.”

He looks guilty. It’s weirdly adorable, which is kind of annoying. “Why do you look like you expect me to tell you it’s your fault?”

“You’d be surprised what people blame us for.”

“Well, you didn’t wreck my display singlehandedly, so I’m pretty sure yelling at you about it isn’t going to get me anywhere.” He stretches back, linking his hands behind his head. “What’s the damage?”

“I actually don’t know. Are you under warrantee?” 

_Nope._ “Maybe? Could you check for me?” 

“Sure, of course.” Oliver turns to tap away at the master computer for a few seconds, and comes back looking distressed again. “Okay, so here’s the thing: I can do this here, and it’ll probably put you out about a thousand dollars because your warrantee expired, or I can send it out to get fixed somewhere else. That’ll cost maybe three hundred.”

“There’s gotta be a catch.”

“You won’t get it back for about a week.”

“Ah.” The legs of his chair thud back to the ground. “Here’s the thing, though, Oliver. I’m a law student, and I can’t actually go without a computer for that long.”

“I--I get it. I do.”

“Listen,” he purrs, leaning closer, “what if, uh...what if I told you I was pretty sure I had renewed my warrantee?” The mischievous gleam in his eyes makes it very clear that this is a total lie. But for just a second, Oliver isn’t particularly sure he cares. He blinks and forces himself to look away so that he doesn’t do something stupid like break company policy or lunge across the span of counter between them to kiss the smirk off Connor Walsh’s stupid mouth.

“I can’t help you without a receipt,” he says, too quick and too sharp. “I’m sorry.”

“Even if I promised to take you to dinner after?”

The scariest thing about it is how he almost wants to change his mind. Instead, he forces himself to glare up at Connor instead. “Does that actually work on people? Like, do you just...glide through life, flirting your way to getting people to do things for you?”

“Sometimes.” He backs up, and Oliver hates that he leans forward, just a little, before he realizes what he’s done and pulls back again. “There are notable exceptions, of course.”

“I’m sure I’m in the minority.” 

“What if I said I wanted to take you to dinner anyway?”

“I’m still working until close. Also, you’re a stranger.” _(Oh God please stop asking me or I’m actually going to say yes.)_

“For now,” he replies, cheekily, grinning. He pushes back his chair with the slightest of screeches and walks around to stand next to Oliver. “Listen, I gotta go. You can send it out, I’ll borrow someone’s computer in the meantime.”

“I _am_ sorry I couldn’t be of more help. We’ll--we’ll call you when it’s in.”

Connor’s smile widens, and he lets his gaze drift slowly over Oliver’s entire body. “I’ll look forward to it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is sometimes not a dick. Oliver sometimes makes terrible, terrible decisions.

Oliver updates Connor’s warrantee, deletes all evidence of the system overrides he’d used to do so, and keeps the laptop hidden away in the back so he can work on it when there’s time. It’s stupid, it’s so in _credibly _stupid, because there’s hardly ever time and he could lose his job for this. And why? Because he really wants to see the look on Connor’s face when he gets his laptop back a few days early?__

__It’s not worth it._ _

__He calls Connor in the afternoon on the fourth day to tell him his computer is ready. It goes to voicemail on the second ring, and he leaves an embarrassingly hesitant message._ _

__( _“Hey, uh...this is Oliver. From tech support? I’m just calling to let you know your laptop is in, so...you can, um. Pick it up whenever. See you soon.” _)___ _

____He’s never been good at phone calls, anyway._ _ _ _

____It occurs to him, as he’s about to pack up for the night, that he had not thought this through at all. What if Connor comes when he’s not working, and someone figures out what he’d done? He could be endangering his job for literally no reason._ _ _ _

____So he loiters, letting himself be convinced to help some of his more stressed out coworkers with whatever they’re too busy to do. When he’s still there fifteen minutes after his shift was supposed to end, he realizes that he might have to accept defeat._ _ _ _

____He’s looping his scarf around his neck rather more slowly than necessary when the door swings open and Connor Walsh strides in. There’s snow melting in his hair and there’s no way the black peacoat he’s wearing is warm enough in single-digit temperatures, but God. Just looking at him makes Oliver’s breath catch. He laughs at something Oliver’s coworker had said, leaning unnecessarily close to murmur something back, his eyes dark and gaze heated. Oliver averts his own eyes, annoyed with himself, and waits for Connor to walk over so that it’s less obvious that he’s been watching._ _ _ _

____“Thought you said it wouldn’t come in for at least a week.” He can _hear _the smirk.___ _ _ _

______“Sometimes I’m wrong,” he says evasively, refusing to look up. “Your laptop’s in the back, just give me a second to go get it.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’ll be here.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______In the few minutes before Oliver returns, Connor has made himself comfortable and is lounging against the wooden top of the bar and chatting easily with a girl who looks like she’s probably a freshman in college. Her eyes are red and her hair is wild from dragging her fingers through it repeatedly, but as Oliver watches, dumbfounded, Connor says something that makes some of the tension drain from her shoulders, and she gives a watery giggle. He looks up a moment later and spots Oliver, and he smiles at the girl--a real smile--pulls his messenger bag back onto his shoulder, and walks over to join him._ _ _ _ _ _

______“She alright?” Oliver asks, too casual._ _ _ _ _ _

______He shrugs. “Her hard drive crashed or something, she’s a total fucking mess.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“It was nice of you to help her though,” Oliver says, carefully, as he unpacks Connor’s laptop and receipt, putting the latter down between them. “Uh, so, this is a list of all the stuff I--they fixed. Your laptop was pretty screwed up, but everything should be good now.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“She was blubbering on the phone for ten minutes,” Conner mutters, his face twisting into an expression of distaste. “It was distracting.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Oliver ducks his head to hide his smile. He’d been gone for maybe two, and neither Connor nor the girl had even been in the store that long. It’s weirdly comforting to know that this guy actually does occasionally care about people, even if he tries like hell to hide it. “It, um, it looks like they had to replace your hard drive. Sorry about that.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Oh, _they _did, did they?” Connor’s voice is closer now, and Oliver makes the mistake of looking up. Connor’s got his elbows on the bar and his chin balanced in his palm, watching Oliver in amused realization. “Where did you send it, that it got back so early?”___ _ _ _ _ _

________“Out.” He can feel the color flooding his face, and he fumbles a little as he gets the credit card machine. “I just need your payment information and a couple of signatures and you’re all set.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“No problem,” Connor purrs, and lets his fingers brush Oliver’s as he hands over his credit card._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Thanks,” he says, and he’s kind of proud of the fact that he manages to get the card through on the first try, actually. “If you could sign…”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Connor’s signature is basically a scribble. “By the way,” he adds, a study in casual as he hands the machine back. “I got an email the other day, thanking me for updating my warrantee.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Shit. I should have remembered. _“You what?”__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Yeah...one of those automated ones.” There’s something in his gaze that Oliver can’t quite read. “Nothing about a bill, though.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Interesting.” He widens his eyes, trying to look innocent. “Maybe you just got lucky.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Maybe my lucky streak will continue.” And _there’s _the flash of heat, the dangerous smirk, that got Oliver into this situation in the first place.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He’s saved from responding when someone nearby asks, “Hey, Oliver, didn’t your shift end like half an hour ago?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Yeah, I’m leaving. I got distracted,” he says, grateful for the interruption._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Connor has packed his laptop carefully into its carrying case, and he blocks Oliver’s way as he moves to leave, bracing his hip against the side of the bar. “What are you doing now?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Going home?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Let me buy you a drink first.” He’s watching Oliver through impossibly thick lashes. “Least I could do, really.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________There are so many reasons why this is a bad idea. He should say no. He should say that he hadn't done anything worth thanking. He should, he should...but he won't._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He goes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will probably be at least one more chapter of this, because I have no self control. :) Thank you all so much for your feedback!
> 
> I'm on tumblr @ moonlitserenades if you're at all interested in that.


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